


without fear of wind or vertigo

by leradny



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fake Character Death, Gallows Humor, Identity Reveal, Slice of Life, Undercover as a Couple, friend to lovers, identity crisis, jokes about Russian driving, traught - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-09-21 02:32:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17034837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leradny/pseuds/leradny
Summary: Sometimes when they talk about their backstory, false memories flash across her mind's eye like a movie, images spun together from half truths and statistics. In a different universe, maybe--maybe there was a version of her called Diane who walked up to Dan's door. Who found him crying over his dead brother and came in. Who didn't say 'I'm sorry' or 'he was too young' but 'I didn't kill him.' (Tigress and Nightwing on the Markovia job.)





	1. if on a winter's night a traveler

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know. I have a billion other fics to update but I started this one after watching the trailer for Outsiders. 13k words later and counting, I decided to put this up. I AM SO STOKED THAT THEY PUT ARTEMIS IN A DRESS AND TOOK AWAY NIGHTWING'S MASK. THEY ARE SPIES. UNDERCOVER SPIES WHO GO TO FANCY PARTIES AND RESCUE CHILDREN! SO MANY ROMANCE TROPES. SO LITTLE TIME.
> 
> Also I don't believe for one second that the Markovia arc would be "no muss, no fuss." Really, Nightwing? After Kaldur spent at least six months undercover? So I wrote this fic which can be boiled down to, basically, "Artemis and Nightwing live together for almost a year in deep cover."
> 
> Other inspirations:  
> \- The smoke from several enormous wildfires burning at the same time turned California into Mad Max's wasteland for almost a whole week. I (and many others) had to wear air filter masks and remain indoors as often as possible, and I got an air purifier to run at home.  
> \- I got sick with a bad cough shortly after the wildfires were contained. I gave it to Nightwing out of pettiness.  
> \- The titles are all taken from the chapter titles of "If on a winter's night, a traveler" by Italo Calvino. I just thought it fit the atmosphere of this fic nicely.  
> \- Gotham the series. Specifically, the portrayal of the Gotham underworld. Love those friendly mobsters!!
> 
> Content warnings, because you deserve to avoid stuff you don't want to read and I don't mind spoiling my own work:
> 
> \- This story is about mob-style organized crime with a focus on human trafficking. Artemis and Nightwing never actually participate in abducting or threatening people directly, and I've intentionally left it vague as to what their group does to be so connected with human trafficking in the first place.
> 
> \- I make a lot of jokes about driving in Russia, based on both articles I've read, videos I've seen, and stories from friends in Russia, but I have never actually been to Russia so I take full responsibility in playing this part of Russian culture for comedy.
> 
> \- Artemis intentionally refuses to think about Wally or confront her grief about his death and just throws herself back into work--and later, her relationship with Nightwing--to try and forget about it. I know this is very unhealthy. Don't start boning your dead boyfriend's best friend, kids.
> 
> \- Artemis kills people to uphold her cover as an assassin. The kills are not described in detail. She's conflicted at first but settles into it. She uses her former training and her hatred of her father to get her into the mindset of killing. Later, she actually lets Nightwing take credit for some of her kills to secure his disguise. Nightwing is not happy about any of this but accepts the necessity. This plotline starts at Chapter 5, "looks down in the gathering shadow".
> 
> \- Nightwing and Artemis start having sex around Chapter 6 ("in a network of lines that intersect"). They're, uh... frank about it. But actual sex scenes won't be depicted since I find them so difficult to write (emotionally) and I edited out several in a few of my works. Kissing and a tasteful fade to black is the furthest you'll see on the figurative screen.

One of the reasons Artemis and Wally got along so well--when they finally managed to get along--was because they were both on the same wavelength. Wally wanted something, he made it happen. He didn't mince words. He ran from point A to point B. The main reason they might not synch up would be because Wally would already on the sixth or seventh thing by the time Artemis got to her second slot on the list. Case in point being Valentine's Day. Artemis said Wally forgot five years in a row because it was easier to say that instead of "One year to me feels like about four years to him due to his hyperactive sense of time and either he shows up with flowers and chocolate a month early or two weeks late and then says, 'Oh wait, it's not Valentine's Day, is it?'"

The point is, things happened quickly with Artemis and Wally. And it was the only reason she stayed with her father instead of running away with Jade. She doesn't love her dad, she didn't like being the sole recipient of his training--but Lawrence is direct and to the point. Jade is not. Artemis loves Jade and she thinks, on good days, maybe the sisterly love is mutual. But they just don't think the same way.

Artemis agreed to work the Markovia job with Nightwing because she likes working with him. Nightwing respects her without being worshipful or condescending. He's a leader without being arrogant, easygoing without being a pushover, charming without being crude. Obviously he's changed since the last time she was on the team, but she thought he might not have changed that much.

The difference between Nightwing and everyone else in her life, including herself, is that he is much more patient and at least five times as cautious.

Which is why, when Artemis asks about the flight headed to Russia instead of Markovia, she gets this response:

"Markovia was annexed by Soviet-Union-era Russia, and despite the official retention of the Markovian royal family, they're basically figureheads. Russia's influence is still very powerful in both official and criminal matters. In the past, I've found a lot of connections between the identities of agents and routes dedicated to human trafficking in Russia and Markovia. Ultimately, I've decided that Russia would be the better country to start with since it's often a stopping point. Do you understand?"

"Yeah--yeah, I got it," Artemis says, because she does, and also she has no intention of hearing a lengthy and very depressing lecture on the few points she's not sure about.

"All right," Nightwing says. "Do you agree with the plan?"

"What?"

"Do you agree, or would you prefer to start in Markovia first?"

"Why are you asking me?"

"There's no one else to ask, is there?" Nightwing gestures to her. "We're both working on this outside of the team. I thought you might as well get an equal say. Be partners, not leader and subordinate."

Or--handler and deep cover agent. Artemis isn't without subtlety herself, contrary to quite popular belief. She thinks that if she just spent months and months executing a ludicrously convoluted plan with only two people in the loop, she might just want to keep it simple this time around. Work with one other person, you can tell them everything. No figurative pay grades to worry about. No secrets.

"I mean, on first thought I'd prefer Markovia." Artemis thinks a little more, for good reasoning. "The kids we're looking for are Markovian. They disappeared in Markovia. Start simple." Nightwing nods, and for some reason it's encouraging because he clearly weighed over both choices. "But I'm going with you on this one. You know how in small towns everyone knows everyone and they kind of stick together against strangers? It'd be harder to work our way into that. They wouldn't trust us as easy in Markovia, we'd have to work harder on our disguises. Meanwhile, I'm pretty sure we could just show up in Russia asking for some Markovian kids and everyone would just roll with it."

"Not how I would have phrased it," Nightwing admits wryly. "But thank you for agreeing with me." And he smiles. A little thing, but warm. Like the first hint of blue sky in a blank slate of white.

\- - -

During the plane ride to Russia, Nightwing wears his sunglasses and tilts his head back to look like he's sleeping.

It was years and years ago the first time Artemis saw Nightwing's eyes, but she remembers thinking it strange. His eyes were blue, but the sort that wouldn't get gushed over. It was like Gotham seeped into the very faces of its citizens and made them--not unremarkable, because Nightwing is quite so--but less strikingly, obviously different. Zatanna's eyes are crystal blue, and people have written terrible poetry about them. Artemis knows because she and Zee got together to read that bad poetry out loud and see how long it took before they cracked up.

She bites back a pang of hurt as she realizes it will be a long time before she sees any of the old team again. Nightwing hadn't been optimistic. He said, "Anywhere from six months onward." Without saying, Artemis remembers how long Kaldur spent undercover to discover the Light's plan--six months--and even though Artemis joined him halfway through they'd had their cover blown and only narrowly escaped failure because everyone else came to back _them_ up.

Yet, here she is, heading to Russia with Nightwing on yet another deep cover mission. She at least told her mother about it this time.

Nightwing wears contacts sometimes, but not now. When he takes his shades off, she sees the muted blue above the pale bridge of his nose. The color's been sucked out of them, they look almost gray with his black hair and the black filtration mask covering his lower face and jaw.

He hands her one too. "Here, put this on."

"What's happening, some sort of gas leak?"

"No, just air quality."

The air in Russia makes Gotham smog look like a sunny mountain meadow. It's overcast, but not dark enough to be nighttime, a vague sort of twilight. Gotham at least has clear differences between night and day. Only an hour after their taxi ride to the shady-looking and most likely illegal apartment in the heart of the city, the sunset is a sullen red and gray outside their window, like the sky's on fire.

The first thing Nightwing does is bring out an air purifier machine and set it to high speed while they unpack. His sunglasses have disappeared.

"No sunglasses?" Artemis asks, only half joking.

"Not necessary." He doesn't rise to the joke or smile at hers, and it's disappointing.

Nightwing trusts her with his eyes. He trusts her to be a partner instead of a subordinate. She still doesn't know his true name after six years of knowing him.

It's only been half a day, but Artemis feels like the tables have turned. Now she's the one rushing ahead at top speed while Nightwing is behind her. But knowing how it felt to be on the other end is important, because she can tell herself that Nightwing isn't too slow. It's just the way he works.

\- - -

When Wally got sick he literally crashed into bed for a few melodramatic days. Then he got up and about like nothing happened. Same thing happens with Artemis, except with less melodrama and more of a recovery time.

It doesn't happen like that with Nightwing.

Driving in Russia is more of an adventure than she thought. When they stop at a red light, as Artemis has been taught since she was sixteen, someone blares their horn and shouts something in Russian. Artemis rolls down the window and gets a breath of the horrible smog before swearing at them in Vietnamese, and the asshole just--floors the gas and speeds around them like the light isn't still red.

"Do you know what he said?" Artemis asks.

Nightwing smirks and clears his throat. "'What are you, American?'"

"Stop lights are red in Russia, right?" She wracks her brain, but except for Nightwing warning her that the signs were in Russian she doesn't remember anything different.

"Yes, they are. But, uh--" Nightwing clears his throat again. "Let's just say they're rarely enforced."

The things they take for granted. Artemis bursts out laughing. "Change of plans! Let's go to Markovia first. Here we could die on the street before we even start looking for our contact."

He smiles again and Artemis basks in it before driving them, properly, back to the apartment. That's how she misses the first sign.


	2. outside the town of Malbork

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not Christian, but some of my readers may be, and seeing as I have posted this on December 24th, you may think of this chapter as a Christmas present. This was one of the most fun chapters to write.
> 
> I also saw Aquaman. It was amazing. HAIL KING ARTHUR OF ATLANTIS!

The first few days are quiet and surreal. Nightwing cooks things from Russian-labeled boxes while Artemis brews the coffee and tea because she doesn't need to read Russian to do that. Russian breakfasts all sound exotic until Nightwing's done with them and they turn out to be disappointingly mundane. "That's just porridge!" Artemis says when she sees the end result of kasha. Tvorog is cottage cheese, which Artemis refuses because she didn't like it at home. Nightwing promptly brings out several different toppings, and it turns out she likes cottage cheese with salty black olives.

After breakfast, they head out to establish themselves as human traffickers and find the particular boss they've decided on. Artemis feels a sense of deja-vu with her childhood. Get up, have breakfast, commit crimes. The key differences being that she's partners with Nightwing, not being trained, and they're really trying to rescue the kids.

Walking in and out of seedy bars and restaurants, Artemis notices that Nightwing clears his throat before introducing himself. It's regular--he clears his throat, there's a pause, and he says in Russian, "Minya zavut Dan--" allowing his American accent to come out on his alias. Sometimes they keep speaking in Russian, sometimes in English. She thinks maybe it's just a character tic he chose to flesh out his fake identity.

That's how it climbs into the rest of their conversations, and in-between when they're walking to the next place or back home, without Artemis paying it much mind. Dan clears his throat a lot. Nightwing doesn't.

Except how he does sometimes, when he's writing down information in their code. But even then she thinks it's just a safeguard in case they get bugged. He insists that they call each other by their fake names even in the apartment. Artemis doesn't bother with it much.

\- - -

Nightwing's good enough that the downtime is only a few days. The second in command of the boss they're looking for approaches them one day and invites them to dinner at a certain family restaurant. The food is pretty good. There's a waitress around their age who is wearing higher heels and far more makeup than is appropriate for an eight-hour shift of food service. This young pretty Russian girl winks at Nightwing as she serves them.

Artemis snorts.

Nightwing politely ignores both of them and asks questions of the second-in-command that they already know the answers to.

The front of their human trafficking is--what else?--job placement. "Where do you find jobs for your clients?" Nightwing asks.

"We have connections in Germany, Poland, and Markovia."

"Oh, Markovia," Nightwing says, nodding and smiling without a shred of sincerity.

This is to throw people off their scent. And it would have worked fine on its own, but since they are partners, Artemis decides to back him up anyway. "Where the fuck is Markovia?" she asks, loudly. And the second-in-command laughs, which meant Artemis not only sold the lie, she giftwrapped it and put it in the mail with no return address and they're all eagerly awaiting arrival. Nightwing laughs, but just a little bit before he clears his throat and changes the subject. Which makes Artemis worry.

When they get home, she asks, "Was that too much? Playing the dumb American who doesn't know where Markovia is?"

"What?" Nightwing clears his throat. "Oh--no. I was thinking about something else."

"What? What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he assures her. "Nothing's wrong."

\- - -

That night, a storm covers the ground thickly enough that Artemis opens the front door to find snow piled up to her knees.

"Nope."

She shuts the door. A white patch trickles into the hallway under the threshold as Artemis wonders how they're going to clear the walkway. Nightwing probably has a shovel somewhere, because anyone with an ounce of common sense would be prepared for snow in Russia--but she hasn't seen it. She wonders if she can foist it off on him. Seeing as her mother is Vietnamese and her father is from Alabama, Artemis is not built for snow. A lifetime in Gotham might have toughened her up, but then she moved to California and lost all her hard-won immunity.

In the other room Nightwing croaks, "Artemis? Did it snow?"

Two things wrong with that. One, Artemis woke up before Nightwing and when has that happened? Two, Nightwing just used her real name. Well, three things--his voice sounds horrible. The air filter's been running constantly and he's scrupulous about putting on his mask outside, so it isn't the filthy polluted air. Actually, four--why didn't Nightwing of all people check the weather?

"What's wrong with you?" Artemis pokes her head into his room to find him looking ashen. "Are you sick?"

Nightwing struggles to get up as Artemis approaches his bed. This sets off a long, harsh coughing fit--a bad one, it sounds wet and grating at the same time. "Just a cough."

"That is one of the common symptoms of illness, yes." Artemis frowns. Because not only is Nightwing sick, but Nightwing had fully banked on her not noticing he was sick until it was too late--and she'd played into it like a chump. "Nothing's wrong, my ass!" Without waiting for his response, she says: "Stay here, Nightwing. I'll meet the boss on my own."

"No, Artemis--" Nightwing wheezes. "You need backup, you're not comfortable enough with Russian--this is an essential part of--"

"You can't breathe," Artemis snaps. "Breathing is kind of an essential point of pulling off a mission, backup or not!" She pushes him on the chest with one hand, and it's rather terrifying how swiftly he falls back down. "I won't go off the plan, I'll tell you everything that happens so we can keep our stories straight, and I will buy you some fucking medicine on the way home. And a shovel."

"Don't--" cough, "buy one--" cough, cough, "Closet by the door."

So Artemis skips breakfast to shovel her way to the car, and then--because she trusts Nightwing with her life but ironically not with his own--she packs the snow back in at the door. And just to be sure, she blocks the windows too.

\- - -

It's a good thing she took to driving in Russia like a fish takes to water, otherwise she'd be late. She speeds to the corner, cuts down a one-way street, parks in a driveway, makes it to the door, and says the password with five minutes to spare. She pulls off her gloves and wonders if it'd be appropriate to shake hands.

"Diane! You are early!"

The first thing that comes to mind as her new boss comes in is Santa, probably because of the proximity to Christmas. The man is middle-aged with a thick waist and round, smiling face. He looks more like he'd have a couple of beers and a good large dinner rather than abduct and sell people. She decides to extend her hand for a shake. He shakes her whole arm. Much stronger than he looks. That's not a very good thing.

"Nice to meet you, sir."

"Did you drive? Driving in Russia can be difficult for newcomers. But where is your partner Daniel?"

"Oh..." There's no way she'll just tell hardened criminals selling children into slavery the boring, mundane truth. Being sick is being weak and weakness is not tolerated among criminals no matter what country you're in. Or how friendly the boss seems to be. "He got shot."

"Shot! By who?" their contact asks. "You only came to Russia few days ago! Who shot you! Was it over parking spot?"

"Don't worry about it, sir." Artemis waves it off. If there's one thing she learned from her parents, it's that if you say those magic words firmly enough, no one will question you. Should make it through the language barrier, too. "I'll handle things."

"He is not dead, is he?"

"No, he'll be up in a week or two." Then Artemis raises an eyebrow. "Why do you care?"

"My niece saw him last time we met at restaurant--my brother, he owns it, and she works there sometimes. She thinks he is nice boy, very handsome. I told her he is American and she fall in love!"

The restaurant? Oh.  _That_ waitress.

There's a lot to unpack here. Including the fact that Artemis is less concerned about how some random girl went googly-eyed over Nightwing. If she had a nickel for every time that happened, she'd have at least a few dollars. No, she's worried that child slavers think Nightwing is _nice American boy_ when he's pretending to _be_ one of those child slavers.

"Tell your niece not to worry, sir," she says smoothly. "They didn't get his face."

Everyone in the room starts laughing. It even sounds genuine. "You come from this life, do you, Diane?" the boss asks. "You are very young but you seem to know the dance."

"Family business," Artemis says. "Well, a different one, but I can figure this out."

"Family business! What business, please?"

"It's a bit of a sensitive topic, sir."

"Do tell us, please! Meeting rooms are all totally secure! Is no one else listening here."

As casually as possible, Artemis tells him, "Killing people." Because it _was_. She's just leaving out the fact that neither she nor her mother want to do it anymore.

"Oh, very good--amazing!" he exclaims, as if this is any other job interview and her skill was a pleasant surprise. "We shall see if you come in useful, assassin lady."

"I mean, I don't speak Russian as well as Dan," Artemis demurs, as if that is legitimately the biggest reason barring her from killing people at their new boss's command. Fuck, she's going to have to kill someone. If she was here on her own, she wouldn't be so bothered, but she knows Nightwing would be.

"Is no problem at all! We understand each other right now, yes? But what other languages do you speak, Diane?"

"Francais."

"Très bon! Many of us speak French here. You will do well. If your partner is half as good as you, I trust him." He claps her on the shoulder. "Now come with us for drinks! First round on me!"

"Drinks?" Artemis asks, amidst a loud cheer. "Right now?"

"Da! Is part of meeting! You did not think we would sit here and talk about job for two hours, did you? Ugh! So boring!"

"It's, uh--" Artemis looks at her watch. Do they use twenty-four or twelve-hour clocks here? "It's only five-thirty, sir."

"You Americans--so professional! But here in Russia, is fine to drink when it gets dark! And look!" he gestures out the window. "Is already dark!"

"Da! Already dark!"

"I don't want to leave Dan out," Artemis counters, very weakly. "What if he misses all the fun--lying in bed recovering from his gunshot wound!"

"Then he come next time! You know what we do when someone is missing?"

"One shot for him and the rest for you!" everyone choruses.

"All right!" Artemis laughs helplessly, "If you insist!"


	3. leaning from the steep slope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all get this chapter early because I'm working tomorrow and I don't know if I want to go out for New Years' Eve afterwards. Lots of foreshadowing. Also, Artemis 100% knows how to use firearms properly and well and you cannot take this headcanon from me.

The drinks wouldn't be so bad if Artemis hadn't skipped breakfast _and_ felt the effects of much stronger, illegally homebrewed vodka. She makes her excuses and chases them down with plenty of water, and even remembers to get the medicine. But she forgets that she blocked Nightwing in. She manages to clear the walkway again, then gets too tired to shovel the snow off the windows. She decides that is a problem for sober Artemis, so she barges back in and announces, "Danny boy! I'm home!"

"You're late." Nightwing is in the kitchen, drinking tea. If he wasn't so controlled, she'd say he was sulking. "Did you have to pack in the windows?"

"Did you try and get out through the windows?" Artemis retorts. He drinks his tea in silence. She sticks her head in Nightwing's room to find the carpet around his window is soaked. "Ha! Knew it."

"Are you drunk?" Nightwing asks.

"No!" Artemis assures him. "They invited me to a bar. Couldn't, uh--figure out how to dispose of them so I just took two shots and called it a night. I'm pretty sure it was moonshine."

"What?"

"Oh, frick, was that bad? Too unprofessional? Or maybe I should have pumped someone for information--"

"No, it's just surprising." Nightwing pours some water into a glass and hands it to her. "How did you get invited to _drinks?_ "

"I told them you got shot and made a joke about it." Artemis laughs. "They figured I came from criminal stock, so we bonded over that, I guess. I'm lucky they liked my sense of humor!"

"Don't sell yourself short," Nightwing tells her. "You used your family history to gain common ground without being threatening--" He breaks into a cough. "Or give away anything relevant to our real mission."

Artemis hands him the medicine. "Isn't that why you picked me for Kaldur's mission?"

"Yes--but I didn't realize just how effectively you could utilize that sort of comeraderie. What did I tell you for that mission? Be cautious, don't talk too much to anyone... Don't get too familiar, especially not with Kaldur."

"That worked too," Artemis points out. "As far as anyone knew, I'd just met Kaldur and I had no connections to anyone on Black Manta's crew. Criminals, Nightwing--they're not inclined to shake hands and be all chummy from the getgo."

"These criminals invited you out for drinks the first time you met them alone!" Nightwing says. "It would have taken me at least a week to do the same! If I'd trusted you to act more on your knowledge of underworld politics we might have discovered the plan so much faster and--"

The damn cough comes back at just the right moment. Artemis has to get him away from the past because if he keeps going, she's certain he's going to say something like maybe they might have saved Wally.

"We did our best with the plan we went with," Artemis tells him firmly. "And it still worked, Nightwing! Even with so many people discovering who I was." What she wants to tell him is that Wally died because of reasons they couldn't control, reasons they still have no idea how to reverse or prevent, but articulating that is not going to work after two shots of wicked strong vodka. So she brings him to a point of concern: "Oh yeah, by the way--your act isn't working. Everyone thinks you are--" she affects a bad Russian accent, "'Nice American boy!'"

"What?!" Nightwing clutches his temples. "Oh, I need to fix this. Why wasn't it working?"

"Just a tip--you can try to cultivate an evil hardass persona, but I think it'd be better if you just worked with it. There's all sorts of criminals, including nice people."

"And how can you explain me?"

"Blackmail's the magic word! You have rules, you don't like collateral damage and you definitely don't do child slavery, but someone got their hands on something--we don't have to say what it is--and now you're stuck here. Voila! That's how a nice guy like you ended up in Russia, the Gotham of Europe."

"What about you? Why are you working with such a nice guy?"

"I just told them my family business was killing people. Maybe... I needed you because you know Russian."

"No, that's too thin. We clearly know each other and work well together because of it and assassination is a little at odds with human trafficking." Nightwing thinks. "You're blackmailing me."

"What?!"

"You don't want to," he explains. "It's not personal. Whoever's employing us wants to make sure I finish this. Since I know you--since I'm friends with you--I'll hesitate to use force. That's why they picked you. They want to make sure I get this done, and you don't want to kill me."

Stuck between a rock and a hard place. She thinks about her father saying 'Ain't personal, baby girl,' when he told her to kill someone.

"Yeah, that works," Artemis says. "That works just fine."

"Wait--" Nightwing looks out the door. "You drove in the snow after having drinks?! In Russia?!"

"I had the chains on!"

He still sighs and rubs his temples. "Remind me to teach you how to ditch alcohol."

\- - -

They have a rendezvous at a bar a few days after Nightwing's recovered enough to not seem sick. Even though it's not likely in the _least_ that anyone will see Nightwing with his coat off in the middle of a Russian winter, much less his shirt, he wraps gauze around his torso to sell the gunshot wound story. They come in early to greet the boss, then they situate themselves a few spots away while waiting for everyone else. It's not quite out of earshot, even with the noise of the bar around them, so the boss is sure to eavesdrop on them and hear the relevant bits.

"Sure was strange how you got shot out of nowhere on your first day in Russia," Artemis says. Then, like a puzzle piece falling into place, she sees how this can tie in to their backstory. She's the one who shot him. That's why she went alone, to make sure Dan wouldn't back out.

"Strange how you didn't see the shooter even though you live with me," Nightwing snaps. Oh no, he thought that was a dig at his intelligence.

"Gee," Artemis says, laying on the sarcasm. "Can't imagine who else knows where we're staying besides me and you."

"And you can?"

He doesn't get it. Fuck. This is pretty blunt, but she's going to have to go Artemis-blunt.

"I like you, Dan," Artemis says. "But listen, orders are orders. If you try and back out again, there'll be another bullet with your name on it. And I won't miss next time." His irritation turns to confusion and then, as the last words sink in, he smiles. It's startlingly genuine, it's means Nightwing is pleased with the twist she's put on it--but it's not in character and they don't know who's watching. Artemis puts a very firm hand on his shoulder as a warning to both Dan and Nightwing. "You think I was _joking?_ " Take the bait, Nightwing.

"Of course you were joking, Diane," he says, and his eyes go wide and idealistic in a way she hasn't seen since he was Robin and it looks so different on his grown-up face. Her heart hurts a little. "That's what you do. We've known each other for years. You wouldn't shoot me."

Artemis lets her hand slide down from his shoulder to his wrist. And on impulse, she leans into his shoulder to say lowly, "I don't _want_ to shoot you." But she would, is what anyone watching them would infer. Because it's not personal, nothing's personal in this business. She can like someone and shoot him at the same time. She'd feel bad about it, at least.

Nightwing goes very quiet. Then he takes his hand out of hers and walks back to the booth. He talks to her fine but there's a distance she can feel, packed around them like the snow at the door and Artemis feels a jolt of disappointment..

When they get home, Artemis asks, "The hand thing, was that okay?"

"The hand thing?"

"Yeah, when I..." When she said she didn't want to shoot him. Moreover, when he moved away without saying anything. "You went all quiet. Was that too much?"

"Oh yeah, the joking part. No, you didn't grip my shoulder too hard." Nightwing seems to have completely forgotten the second thing, the one she was actually talking about. "That was fine. You're doing a great job. I was just reacting to learning that you were the one who shot me. Just remember--you didn't actually shoot me."

Artemis laughs. "This is a mess. One big, giant mess."

The thing about perspective is, she can miss small things in herself just as easily as she can in other people. Only this isn't about her being sick.

\- - -

Since they're playing the story that Diane shot Dan, Artemis digs around for back alley weapons dealers until she finds a good sniper rifle. She's a little rusty with modern firearms, so she reacquaints herself with the SVI Falcon at a range for the next few days while Nightwing shakes off the last of the bronchitis. It's ridiculously easy--except she'd forgotten about the recoil and ends up with a sore shoulder the first day. It's also much less mobile than a bow, something to think about. Artemis would be frustrated, but Diane's been doing this for years.

The mobility she'll just have to deal with. When she's wondering what to do about her sore shoulder, she remembers Lawrence saying, "Shoulder pads, baby girl." It irritates her that she's using her dad's advice, but she gets one of those too and sews it into her jacket.

Nightwing ventures out of bed to find her cleaning the rifle on the kitchen table. The look on his face isn't one she wants to see again. So she says, clumsily, "Sorry." Nightwing nods. "I mean--I shot you. So I figured I better have a gun."

"How's your aim?" he asks, very mild. Like it's just any other thing they've picked up.

"Oh, you know. Perfect."

"Who's spotting you?"

"Spotting? I don't--" Artemis sighs. She didn't need a spotter for archery but she does for sniper rifles. "Fuck, I forgot about that."

They bribe the owner of the range to let them practice a few long shots after business hours. Artemis buys a night vision scope and Nightwing gets a chance to use his night-vision binoculars. He's a perfect spotter. The wind shifts even slightly, he tells her so--and they decide two taps on her un-armored shoulder for leftward, three for rightward, and one for dead air.

On the way home they iron out the changes in their backstories. "I was the lookout," Nightwing says. "You're the sniper. On group missions it was just easier to stick us both together. We got to be friends during a long one."

"I taught you to shoot, but you don't like being the sniper. I don't kill kids, ever, so that's one thing in common. I try to keep it to bad people when you're around."

"Why?"

"'Cause I like you." Nightwing raises an eyebrow and Artemis quickly elaborates, "You're good at spotting and you're trustworthy. I can count on you to defend in close quarters."

"Oh," Nightwing says. He coughs. "I'd have a gun, too. Short-range. Thoughts?"

"Shooter's choice," Artemis says. "You'll have to buy a new one here anyway, it's not like we can take guns on planes. We just ditched our old ones and bought new ones here."

"What'd you shoot me with if you bought this rifle here? And also, this rifle is too high-powered for a survivable chest wound. You can't have used it to shoot me."

Artemis thinks, working out solid reasons instead of shrugging it off like she did before. "Stole a handgun and used a rubber bullet, then wiped my prints off and returned it."

"How'd the old boss take me surviving?"

"I said you caught me and dodged. Turns out lookouts who double as spotters are good at, you know, hearing people sneak up on them." She smiles. Nightwing doesn't. She sighs and goes on, "I convinced him this was a good enough warning for you. I also told him you didn't actually back out. You just expressed your dislike of enslaving children but you were totally going to do it anyway. Because whatever he's blackmailing you with, it's good."

"You're doing an awful lot of lying for me," Nightwing says, and it's close enough to a quip that Artemis smiles.

"That's what friends do, right?"

"Oh, wait--" Nightwing points out the window. "You missed the turn."

"See? Best lookout ever." She checks to make sure no one's around, then makes a u-turn in the middle of the block. Tires shrieking in protest, she makes it mostly back to the corner, then tries to shorten the turn so she gets onto their street without climbing onto the curb. She still climbs the curb a little bit. The right side of the car jolts as she swerves to the left.

"Di!" Nightwing's clutching his seatbelt and the dash with white knuckles. "What happened to rounding the block!"

"It would have taken like five minutes longer. This block is huge!"

"It's a normal sized--" Nightwing looks out her side. "Get out of this lane! It's the wrong way!"

"You're acting like people care," Artemis tells him, parking on the wrong side of the street to prove her point. "We won't even get a ticket. And if we do, we can just bribe the DMV and the ticket goes away."

"That's called paying off your ticket!"

"Oh, right." Artemis sighs. "I'm going to miss driving in Russia. It's so simple."


	4. without fear of wind or vertigo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just watched episode 1 of Outsiders and aside from it being amazing, I CAN'T BELIEVE I FUCKING CALLED IT. RUSSIA'S A MAJOR STOPPING POINT IN METAHUMAN TRAFFICKING.
> 
> Comments are lovely.

The morning of their first official briefing, Artemis decides to braid her hair instead of putting it in her regular high ponytail. With the weight set lower at the nape of her neck, and denser yet out of the way, it's a small shift that still manages to throw everything off. She should have thought of this before, to further separate Diane from Artemis.

When Artemis walks into the kitchen, Nightwing looks up and stares at her for a moment.

"Too much?"

"No, I was just wondering if I should change mine." He takes out a comb and a pocket mirror. "Subtly." He wets the comb in the sink and in a few minutes his usually messy bangs get slicked back into the rest of his hair for a more professional look. He looks familiar for some reason, except for the faint frown on his face as he stares into the mirror, comparing it to his usual reflection.

"I mean." Artemis takes a large gulp of her still too-hot tea, ignoring the burn in her throat. "It works on you."

She's always known Nightwing was good-looking, but it was in more of the distant way one tends to regard their boyfriend's best friend. She never thought it too hard in case the mind-link was still active. She _definitely_ never said it out loud. Even after Wally died, enough of that lingered for Artemis to keep any thoughts about Nightwing's appearance at arm's length. Now, in the stark winter light of the kitchen, with a new hairstyle and different clothes and a different expression from his usual kind smile, it's almost like she's looking at someone else. If he were some random guy on the street, the first thing she would notice is that Nightwing is very, very handsome.

"But if we both change our hair at the same time, it might draw attention," Nightwing points out.

Relieved, Artemis latches onto the subject change. "You're right. Kind of weird to be all matchy."

"Then again, we've known each other a long time," he muses.

She doesn't know which would be more distracting--letting Nightwing keep his new hairstyle so she'd have to fight her brain shouting ' _Fuck! He's **smoking hot!** When did this happen!_", or trying to pretend he's not attractive when he goes back to his regular style. "You're the detective."

"And that's if anyone even asks," Nightwing goes on. "We should give it a few days before anyone introduces themselves, honestly. If this is anything like your experience on Black Manta's team." He stares at himself for another moment, then shrugs. "I'll keep it."

"Okay. Good. Because, uh--" Artemis stares at her watch. It hasn't even been five minutes. They have nothing to do besides get ready for the briefing, which is in an hour. They're up and dressed and having breakfast. There's no one to call, no errands to run. "I didn't want to undo my braid."

"I'll change mine, then," Nightwing says, and reaches up to scuff his hair.

"No!" she bursts out. "I mean, it doesn't matter either way. Save the effort."

"What's wrong?" Nightwing raises an eyebrow. "You're all jumpy now."

"You, uh--you... you look--" There's no way she'll tell her dead boyfriend's best friend anything remotely true to what she's thought in the past thirty seconds. "You look _familiar!_ " she half shouts. "Yeah--you look familiar even though you've never had that hairstyle! Where have I seen you before?"

"I've _never_ had my hair like this before? Really?" There's a hint of a smirk that quite frankly alarms her. Did he catch on? She likes to think she's good at hiding things but he is, after all, a detective. And also that smirk is sexy. Oh fuck, _this_ is why he dated half the team. "Where have you seen me, indeed?"

Artemis blinks, confused. "What?"

"Surely there must have been a formal situation in which I had to slick back my hair," he tells her, grinning. "Perhaps, some place with a dress code we were both attending at the same time."

"That's... weirdly specific." Some place with a dress code? She thinks of the circus first, but it wasn't formal. Doctors, soldiers, guards, those all had formal uniforms but they've never had to team up during one of those, mostly because Robin was too short to pass as an adult back then. The image of Nightwing in a police uniform springs to mind and Artemis shakes her head to rid herself of it. "What do you mean?"

His smile falls. Like she's missed an obvious question on some test and he's disappointed. But he tells her, "Never mind."

"Did I miss something?"

"It's nothing, really," Nightwing says gently. "Forget it."

The conversation ends even more awkwardly than if she'd just admitted he was hot in the first place. And it's too late to say that now without opening a whole 'nother can of worms, so Artemis gives up and eats her damn toast in silence.

\- - -

The briefing is normal, even if being in a room full of criminals grates on her nerves. Then Nightwing starts coughing--hard, and for real. He buries his face in a handkerchief and excuses himself. Artemis gets up too. She can't hide that she's worried, so she plays with it. Dan and Diane have known each other for years. They can be friendly without blowing their cover. Criminals can be friends. Her parents were married, for fuck's sake. And if she's thinking this defensively, it's only because she doesn't know if Nightwing wanted her to follow him or not. She's still trying to figure out what he meant this morning.

"Excuse us, sir," Artemis says. Then without waiting for an answer she runs after the sound of Nightwing coughing his lungs out. "Danny," she calls.

The nickname just slips out.

Nightwing looks up, startled. They're still in sight--she's never called him that before. But commenting on it would be suspicious so Artemis hopes Nightwing plays along. Diane calls him Danny when she's worried--really worried. As they reach the hall by the bathroom, a pocket of quiet just around a corner, she puts a hand over his chest.

"You okay?"

He lifts the cloth from his mouth and tilts it just slightly so she catches a shine of red.

There's red on the handkerchief.

There's red all over his teeth.

"That better not be blood!" Artemis says, but what she means is that better not be _real_. Although it does have that distinct coppery smell. He catches her eye and taps her hand, right over the gunshot wound. Three times. Okay. That probably means it's fake. She hopes it's fake. The last time Nightwing said nothing was wrong he ended up with bronchitis.

As they hear footsteps come around the corner, Nightwing mouths 'ripped stitches' and 'go home.' Artemis gratefully accepts the ploy.

"I told you not to come today," Artemis hisses. "You ripped them out!"

"I'm--fine," Nightwing coughs. He jerks his chin down at the collar of his coat. Artemis unbuttons it to find red staining the chest his white shirt as well. She knows very well that _this_ blood is purely fake, but she's already alarmed so knowing doesn't help.

One of the other members shows up, a nice-looking young woman with brown hair. "Is everything all right?"

"Yes," Nightwing answers, at the same time Artemis says firmly, "No."

"Oh my goodness, you're bleeding!" She turns around. "I'll tell the boss you're going home at once."

"I can still listen to the rest of the briefing--"

"And what, bleed out on the floor?" Artemis buttons his coat back up and slings one of his arms around her shoulders to half drag him out of the meeting place. "Would you fill us in later, please? I have to patch him up."

"Of course!" is the courteous response. "My name is Nadia."

When they get home, Nightwing washes the red out of his mouth and says, "Squib."

"Oh, thank fuck." She puts her head in her hands. "You gave me a heart attack!"

"I'm sorry--I didn't mean to scare you." Nightwing puts a hand on her shoulder, a soft touch. Warm. "Did you notice they weren't talking too much to either of us about anything important? And they kept switching to Russian?"

"Yeah."

"I put a bug in the meeting room. They'll be more likely to talk without us there. Remember, you didn't actually shoot me."

Because coughing up blood was such a big thing, fake though it was, Artemis forgets what she said about criminals not being likely to shake hands. Here they are, two criminals, yet she's touched Nightwing twice now and Nightwing returned it, and neither of them were threatening each other. She forgets her parents were young once and they didn't start out married with two children, there must have been something building up to that. She forgets the beginning stages of Wally. She gets so caught up reminding herself that she and Nightwing are not actually criminals that she forgets how, like well-trained actors, they are using dozens of little truths to sell one giant lie.

\- - -

The sound of glass breaking wakes her up. It came from Nightwing's room. She checks on the knife in her sleeve and heads in. The window's fine. Nightwing knocked over the glass on the bedside table--the shards are on the floor, the carpet is stained dark. Artemis slips out to get another glass and presses it into his hands. "Nightwing. Here."

He nods, tries to say something which is probably 'I'm fine,' but it's undercut by how he can't stop coughing. She has to steady him. She slings her arm around his shoulders to weigh them down, wraps her hand around his to keep the glass from spilling, and guides it to his mouth.

After a few swallows, he takes his first deep breath in a few minutes. Artemis stays in place, waiting for another cough. The night stays quiet. He's warm against her side. But not feverish, she thinks with a little defensiveness. She's just checking to make sure he's not feverish.

"You're a terrible patient," she tells him. She doesn't have to speak loud. Her chin is right up next to his shoulder.

"So I've been told." She hears a smile in his voice. Then he clears his throat and sits up, all business. "I'll clean up that broken glass in the morning. Good night."

"Yeah." She has no idea why she feels so irritated at his quick goodbye. "Good night."

She tosses and turns for a while before she falls back asleep.

\- - -

In the morning the heat sputters out and Artemis is glad of an outlet for her frustration. They've already paid rent for this month, so it can't be the landlord. Artemis stomps outside to try and fix the heater, and Nightwing accompanies her. But the heater is hopeless. It's at least three decades older than both their ages combined and it wasn't even a good model.

The second Nightwing starts breathing too hard in the cold sharp air, Artemis drags him inside, throws a blanket over his shoulders, and drives out to find a space heater.

It took her fifteen minutes to drive to the hardware store when they first got here. Now it takes her three. Unless, like today, she meets a traffic cop who disapproves of her driving twenty miles over the limit and turning so short she runs over the curb. But slipping them a bribe keeps it under seven. Fuck, Russia isn't the Gotham of Europe--it's even worse. She'll be glad to be back home, especially since she'll be able to read things.

\- - -

After a couple of days, there's a knock on their door. Artemis and Nightwing both get up and immediately try to stop each other.

"The only people we know are _criminals!_ " Nightwing argues. "I'm better at hand-to-hand!"

"Yes, but you also got shot in the chest a few days ago, _Danny boy_!" Artemis snaps. "Also, I have a knife in my sleeve and I know how to use it, thank you very much. You can stay in the living room for the element of surprise."

"You're right." Nightwing sighs and retreats from the hall while Artemis answers the door. It's Nadia, the nice girl around their age, holding some soup. When the bowl exchanges hands, Nadia winks and slips a bottle of prescription pain pills into Artemis' pocket. Just like Gotham.

"Hey, Nadia! Let me make you some tea," she says. "Dan! We've got a guest--"

"I'm only staying a minute, but thank you, Diane."

"Never mind!"

"We just wanted you to know that the whole group is taking a flight to Malbork in Poland very soon. You're invited--it's one of our usual trips--and if Daniel feels well enough, we can put him in a less demanding role for now."

"When is it?"

"A few days."

"If I agreed, could we take our own..." Artemis pauses. "Equipment to use on that trip?"

"It's a private flight!" Nadia tells her. "No limits on carry-on luggage."

"I'll go. Let me talk to Dan and see if he'll come along." Artemis smiles and thanks her, Nadia gets into a car idling in the driveway. She waits until they are fully out of sight before shutting the door and deadbolting it.

She then turns to find Nightwing lying on the couch with a bloody shirt and several bandages scattered on the table, for all the world looking like he's been there two days instead of two minutes. Damn, that was fast. After her heart stops racing, she says, "Danny boy?"

He raises an eyebrow at the use of his fake name. "Yes, Diane?"

"Nadia gave us a bowl of soup." She clears the bandages away from a corner and puts it on the table along with the pills. Prying off the cover, she recognizes it as something close to what Nightwing cooked for dinner once. "I think it's soljanka."

"What's wrong?"

"Oh, nothing," she says lightly. "Just wondering, when did we tell our employers where we lived?"

Nightwing looks stricken but responds casually like she does. "I don't remember. Must have slipped my mind when I got shot."

"We've got a flight to Malbork, Poland in a few days," Artemis tells him. "Can you move without ripping your stitches this time?"

"Yeah, I'll go on the job," he says.

They don't talk after that. They search every corner for bugs or cameras. After three sweeps of the entire apartment, they don't find anything, and Artemis breathes a sigh of relief. Honestly, she's been lazy calling Nightwing his real alias.

But across the street they find a window which wasn't boarded up before, with a torn corner that would barely be big enough for a camera or a scope. Breaking into the apartment reveals the kitchen, otherwise covered in dust, has tracks in it leading to the window with some sort of equipment formerly plugged into an outlet, and the faint smell of soljanka.

Nightwing has Artemis ask around. Right after they went home to let Dan recover, a van appeared. There was a man dressed in some sort of uniform and a hat that covered his face, taking a large nondescript electrician's case into the other complex.

A few hours ago, that same man came back with his case, Nadia following him with a grocery bag. They stayed for about half an hour, the man got into the car with his case and turned the engine on. Nadia came out with a covered bowl of soup.

After Artemis gets home and relays everything, Nightwing sighs in relief. "They must have only been watching us since we left the meeting. Checking to see if we'd run. Since they left, we're most likely safe for now."

"I'm sorry," Artemis says. All the times she's called him Nightwing flash across her mind's eye like grains of salt in a wound. "I'm so sorry I haven't been careful. I thought since I'd done this before, since I grew up with people like this--I knew how to tell when I was being watched."

Nightwing puts a hand on her shoulder. "It doesn't look like they could hear us or see very well through the windows." Right, she never cleared the snow off, and that's the first time her laziness has ever served them well. "They don't seem to know about our aliases. We're fine."

"For now," Artemis says, miserable. Just a few weeks into her second deep cover mission and she'd made a huge mistake--getting complacent after being on the team, with people who respected her. Really, _she_ should have been the paranoid one.

"I mean it, Artemis," Nightwing assures her. She feels a little better. If Nightwing is making a point to use her real name, maybe it wasn't so bad. "I'll work up a program that will cancel any bugs which aren't ours and it will still be safe to talk freely here."

"You can do that?"

Nightwing grins.

"Of course you can do that."

"Anyway, no one was actually following us outside of the meeting rooms and this one instance, so they don't know where we've been going or what we've been doing outside of the few days we've been home," Nightwing finishes. Then he adds, "Your driving probably discouraged them."

Artemis barks out a laugh. "It's really okay, then?"

"Yes. You're still the first person I'd pick for this job. Making mistakes won't change that."

Artemis fidgets, wondering what to do with this honest compliment, then waves at the soup and the pills. "Speaking of mistakes, we should check to see if these are poisoned."

It turns out, after a few hours of strenuous chemical testing, the soup is just soup and the pills, while illegally procured, are plain old morphine pills. Neither of them want to try it out, so they stick the soup in the fridge for tomorrow and the pills go in one of Nightwing's suitcases.

Artemis goes to bed early but lays there for hours and hours, heart pounding and a little sore. None of her family would have been so forgiving. Not in the least. Lawrence would have yelled at her. Jade would have mocked her. Even Paula would chew her out after hearing she'd fucked up like this based on how utterly fatal the consequences could have been. And she doesn't want to think about Wally, not yet.

So she thinks about Brucely, who's with her mom now. Paula had fallen in love with the pitbull and with no one else to take care of him now that Wally was dead and Artemis was undercover again, she eagerly took him in. The last Artemis heard from her was when she and Nightwing were prepping for the mission. She was training him as a service dog and it was going really well.

She can't talk to her mother or see her dog. Maybe not for the next six months. Maybe not for a year.

 _Maybe not ever again,_ Artemis thinks.

She has to take a sleeping pill after that.


	5. looks down in the gathering shadow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to wait until Sunday but then I got spoiled for the fact that Dick has a girlfriend who is not Artemis. I haven't looked at exactly who (but I'm betting it's Barbara). To boost morale for my fellow Traughtians, I'm letting you know this chapter is the one just before Dick and Artemis get into bed.
> 
> Content Warning: This is the chapter where Artemis almost kills someone. As a writer, this was really exciting because I got to delve into "underworld politics" and Artemis' knowledge of it. I firmly believe Artemis has killed someone before. She was far too casual with the prospect that she might have to kill Wally. Of course, years of being on the team and away from Lawrence helped develop her compassion and moral code of not killing, but... well, she still might not be quite as rigid about "no killing" as Batman or Nightwing. So, onwards.

The air's cleared of pollution thanks to the snow. They walk out into whitened streets, bundled up in snow boots and wool coats and no air masks, hauling their equipment in nondescript luggage. Nightwing has somehow managed to fit everything he might need into one bag. Artemis has three cases just for her rifle and accessories, not to mention her emergency supplies and first aid kit. She drives them to the rendezvous by the private airway, then wades through the snow loaded down with all her gear until Nightwing graciously takes her rifle case.

The briefing is short and mostly introduces everyone to Nightwing and Artemis, and their respective skills. One thing Artemis has never seen and really doesn't like is how the boss insists on looking into their suitcases. Everything he says is a compliment--"These lockpicks, they are so well made!" or "SVI Falcon, a very nice rifle!"--but the fact that he's literally made them turn out their pockets without warning is a power play of some sort. Thank fuck they didn't have anything related to their actual mission.

She can recognize it enough to feel uncomfortable with the intrusion on their privacy, but she can't figure out what the boss is aiming at--and judging by the strained look Nightwing gives her, he has no idea either.

Another thing that worries her is how they go over the plan--infiltrating a factory that has something to do with landscaping. It might be a front. Artemis and Nightwing get radios, but for some reason they're not mentioned on the roster in either the infiltration or support groups.

"Sir," Nightwing says. "I was wondering what roles Diane and I would be performing on this mission."

"I must think of that on plane," the boss says. "No worries, Daniel! You two will be included!"

On the plane, Nightwing makes polite conversation with Nadia in Russian, complimenting her on the soup she brought them. Artemis wonders if he's lying or if he actually did try the soljanka. For her part, she says nothing to the man next to her and he seems content to return the favor.

Nadia gets progressively chattier and more nervous as they get closer to Malbork, and it reminds Artemis uncomfortably of M'gann. None of Nightwing's attempts to calm her work--he's reduced to nodding every once in a while. Artemis joins the conversation when the Spanish play 'Yerma' comes up. She had to read it in Spanish class at Stanford and ended up reading most of Garcia-Lorca's other works.

"That play again, Nadia?" says their non-companion, his first words of the flight. But he says it with fondness, because Nadia smiles and says something in Russian too quickly for Artemis to understand.

"A kak tibya zavut?" Artemis asks.

"Vladimir."

"Priyátna paznakómitsa."

Off the plane, Nadia's babbling abruptly stops for a much less palatable silence. Vladimir stands next to her and says something that sounds--not comforting, but not gruff either. Artemis glances at Nightwing, who's looking at the approaching boss striding out of the plane, coming towards them with gracious open arms. Artemis stands shoulder to shoulder with Nightwing.

"Daniel, I have made decision! You will be in support--since Diane trained you, can you be sniper on this mission? Over there on that cliff. You will have to lie down since there is no cover."

Nightwing knows how to shoot but he's too ginger with it, even after they eased up on his backstory. "He can't, sir," Artemis says at once. "Well, normally he can, but the recoil--it'd rip open his stitches again, especially since he'd be lying on the ground." She's saved him. But then, she can't just leave it there, it'd look suspicious. She goes for possessiveness and holds her arm out for her rifle. "Anyway, it's my gun. I'm the sniper."

"I'll be her spotter," Nightwing says, handing it over. "It's what I did on our old team--"

Faster than expected of a middle-aged, portly man, the boss gets between them and says with his usual charm, "Is nice how you two are such good friends! But no." The chatter stops. Everyone is suddenly busy averting their gaze. "Must make new friends in new country! Daniel, you have lockpicks, so you will infiltrate building with Nadia, please!"

Well, Nightwing is pretty good at breaking and entering, but she's certain that's not why the boss assigned them to completely different teams. Or why Nadia goes pale and starts to fidget with her sleeve. It's just the right amount of loose to fit a knife while still being feasible winter clothing. Artemis knows because that's why she picked her own coat.

"Vladimir!" the boss says. "You spot for Diane, please. Any problems?"

"No, sir," Artemis says, as the tactic becomes clear. Divide and conquer. Their feelings mean nothing to him. She looks Vladimir over and notices his pants aren't tucked into his boots, even though it's snowing in Poland, too. If she asked, he might say it's because he's Russian. And that might even be true. But she's pretty sure there's a gun or a knife on his ankle. "I'm sure we'll work well together."

Nightwing nods and starts for the break-in group. "I'll check in, Di."

"Oh no, Daniel." The boss claps a hand on Nightwing's shoulder and stops him in his tracks. "Radio is very distracting!" So why did he give them radios? Artemis gets more and more on edge as he says, "On your very first mission, the two of you must concentrate! To make sure you don't talk to each other, I give you radios that only go to my channel. Here! We try now."

Artemis punches in the code for Nightwing's radio. "Dan? You copy?"

Nightwing shakes his head.

"But I do!" the boss tells them cheerfully. "I will do checking in for both of you, please."

This is worse than Artemis thought. He hadn't forgotten about them. He wasn't disorganized. He'd planned all of this to separate them in the most upsetting way possible. She glances around and for the first time she notices that the people who are looking away are mostly in pairs. That was one of the reasons Nightwing picked this group, because people tended to join with their friends, with their family, with their romantic partners. It would be easier for two established teammates to get in.

The drinks, the friendliness, the seemingly casual acceptance of relationships--that was all a front for someone who used those emotional attachments as built-in blackmail. She remembers saying "I don't want to shoot you" right in front of the boss and wants to kick herself.

"Is clear, yes?"

"Yes, sir," Nightwing says, very quiet.

Artemis puts a hand on his shoulder before he walks on. "Danny," she says as softly as she can. "Stay out of--"

"Is time to start now!" The boss pushes Nightwing toward the break-in group. "Forgot Poland is different time zone!" Like shit did he forget. Artemis' stomach lurches when Nightwing just goes along with it like a scared kid. He's in over his head.

But Artemis isn't.

\- - -

"Miss your boyfriend?" Vladimir asks.

"Fuck off."

He absorbs the jab with a stoicness she recognizes from Batman. "Seems like you've known each other a long time."

There's no reason to lie. Artemis thinks back. "Seven years, now. What's it to you?"

"Because my radio works." He gestures to the one strapped onto his wrist. "We're all the way out here, sniper. No one will notice if you use it." She is sorely tempted, but then remembers--even if this wasn't suspiciously _generous_ among criminals--Nightwing wouldn't be able to answer. And she's still tempted because at least she'd be able to say something to him, like--be careful. Or, fuck undercover, I want to go home now.

Artemis looks at his untucked cuffs. The right one hangs freely, flapping a little in the wind. But the left one sticks out the slightest bit, like there's something else underneath it. A knife wouldn't be showing at all.

"You have a gun on your ankle," Artemis remarks.

"Da." Vladimir looks almost sheepish. "You're good."

"If I tried to talk to Dan, would you shoot me?"

"Da."

Artemis shifts forward onto the ground, peering through the scope. "Pass."

\- - -

"I'm sorry," Nadia whispers. She has her arms crossed, worrying at the hem of her sleeve. There's not enough room for a gun in the sleeve of a winter coat. Artemis keeps a knife in hers. "He did this to all of us. It's not personal."

"That's fine," Nightwing says. "Business. I get it."

"If you want," she says, and her voice gets strained and high, "I'll let you borrow my radio. He'll be distracted, he won't notice."

Her grip tightens on the cuff and it wrinkles around the silhouette of a knife like he'd thought. She doesn't seem well-trained in concealed weapons. Batman had taught him to slip a hand under his cuff to get out a batarang. Artemis puts the knife in her right sleeve and flicks her wrist so the handle drops down into a reverse grip. Moreover, Nadia seems reluctant to stab him. But she might, if he gives the wrong answer. Or someone else might.

"No," Nightwing says. "But thank you."

It's the right answer. Nadia uncrosses her arms and moves on with the rest of the group. Nightwing tries to catch up, but she pretends to be too busy to talk to him for the rest of the mission.

\- - -

When the radio crackles, the hair on Artemis' neck stands up. The boss' voice comes on, saying, "Diane!"

A flurry of insults circle her brain, but instead she defaults. "Yes, sir."

"There is one pesky guard outside the west door. You can see him, yes?"

"I can, sir."

"West door is our exit! We must leave quickly, Diane! Shoot him, please."

"Let me check with my spotter, sir." Without waiting for an answer, she asks, "Vladimir. West door, one guard."

"All right." Vladimir looks through his binoculars. "Should be clear."

"Wind?"

"Dead."

 _Nightwing would have just tapped my shoulder once,_ Artemis thinks with resentment.

On auto-pilot, Artemis puts on her earmuffs, adjusts the tripod under the rifle, and repositions herself until she can see the west door--and the lone guard standing in front of it. As guards do, he's remained still and vigilant. A perfect target. If she really was an assassin, she'd have to take the shot. She'd be an idiot if she didn't take the shot. There is no excuse beside the riot of emotions she has, and feelings are never excuses--especially if one of them is not wanting to kill. Their cover will be blown if she doesn't take the shot.

Except all of a sudden she remembers that Nightwing's backstory was _being a lookout_. Isn't it a coincidence that, on the same mission after being separated, she happens to be pointing her gun at a guard wearing a hat that covers his face and hair? Nightwing is quick at disguises. Nightwing could have dropped a guard for his uniform, been stationed at the west door to open it. He's wearing a vest, they both are, but sniper rounds will go right through them. He won't survive no matter where she shoots. Not this time.

( _But I didn't shoot him,_ a small voice says.)

She tries to get a look at the guard's face through her scope.

"Oh Diaaaane!" the boss carols. "I do not see dead guard, please!"

"A few seconds, boss," Vladimir says. "The wind shifted." It hasn't done anything of the sort. While Artemis peers at him out of the corner of her eye, Vladimir turns off his radio and says, "What's the problem?"

"Can you see that guard's face?" Artemis asks. "I just want to make sure I'm not opening fire on one of ours."

"You mean yours," Vladimir says. He looks through his binoculars, then hands them over. "Thought you shot him already, sniper."

"It was a warning shot." She catches a glimpse of light hair at the nape of the guard's neck. She's a little relieved.

"Listen." Artemis does as she hands the binoculars back. "Whatever else you think of our boss, he's too practical to waste a new recruit. So don't worry about Daniel for now."

He turns the radio on again and says something in Russian.

Artemis tries to use her borrowed time, tries to take comfort in how Vladimir seems to be genuinely decent. For a criminal. But it's hard to pull the trigger when it's trained on a person. She hasn't killed in years. She tries to imagine a paper target and it doesn't work. She thinks of Nightwing and his gentle encouragement, but all she can think about is how he'd be torn, too. No, she can't imagine Nightwing ever talking her into killing someone, only talking her out of it.

The guard's hair is light. Maybe not blond, but it's enough to help reinforce the fact that it's not Nightwing. And enough to help her fall back on the oldest trick in her book, the one that racked up her first kill when she was fifteen.

 _Lawrence Crock_ , she thinks, scraping up all the rage in her veins. _Lawrence fucking Crock._

She fires, and the guy stumbles. They both wait for him to fall, but then--against all expectations--his stance firms and he stands back up, talking into his radio.

Vladimir checks. "He's wearing a vest!"

"Fuck the vest! This is the biggest rifle I have!" Inwardly she could scream from relief, but the boss asked for a kill and she, she hasn't gotten one yet--failure is inacceptable but she doesn't know what's happening to Nightwing, he might be going through the same test she's just passed, but  _she can't talk to him_ \-- "It should have gone through!" Her blood is up, she's practiced enough that resetting her bolt action is easy even with her roiling emotions. She lines up the shot again in a second and demands, "Spot me."

"You're good."

_Him or me! Him or me!_

She pulls the trigger again. This time he falls but still, that motherfucker gets up and shouts something and then the alarm in the building goes off.

"Fuck! It's armor--I can't waste another shot!" Artemis starts to pack away her rifle as the guard turns in their direction and shouts into his radio again, waving at them. "Vladimir! Position's lost, we have to move."

Vladimir shines a small flashlight and crouches to help her pack up.

When they meet up for briefing, the boss asks a question in Russian. She makes out, 'what happened' and 'Diane.' Vladimir's answer is also in Russian and his face gives away nothing.

"You took two shots!" the boss exclaims. "Straight in chest! Then enemy would have died twice if not for that armor of his! You did very well, Diane. Is not your fault he is still alive. But you know who is in trouble? Anton!" The boss tuts. "Anton, why did you not catch armored vest?"

The boss claps their intel agent on the shoulder and brings him aside. There's a lot of whispered, frantic stammering from Anton and sympathetic but disappointed words from the boss. Everything Artemis learned about Russian disintegrates and she can't catch any of it. She doesn't really want to. So she looks around their reforming group to try and find Nightwing, because even though her brain tells her she didn't shoot him and the guy didn't even get hurt, she can't shake the doubt.

He's in the crowd, bleeding from the shoulder. Artemis tightens her grip on her rifle case and starts toward him, but Vladimir grabs her arm.

"Would you _please_ eat a bag of dicks?" Artemis hisses.

She catches Nightwing look up at her in surprise. She doesn't know why, she hasn't made any attempt to clean up her language. But then Vladimir says in perfect French, "Pardon. C'était des affaires comme d'habitude."

"C'est bon." Vladimir releases her, leaving her free to sprint to Nightwing and check out his arm. "Danny." Her eyes well up and she blinks them away furiously. Crying is softness. Crying is weakness. She shouldn't have used the nickname, either. Fuck. It's better than Nightwing, at least.

"Di."

If he's using her fake nickname Artemis thinks it's okay. She takes his arm and, irritated at the lack of medical attention, grabs gauze out of her pack and starts cleaning him up. "Why the fuck are you bleeding?"

"The alarm went off," he says. "I panicked."

"You _panicked?_ "

He smiles wryly at her. "Joking."

Artemis bursts into laughter and can't stop, like it's a coughing fit. He rests both his hands on her shoulders. The steady touch calms her down a little bit. But she's afraid if she stops laughing she'll start crying for real.

"What happened?" he asks lowly. "Are you okay?"

"Fine--I'm fine," she stammers. "I'm laughing, aren't I?"


	6. in a network of lines that enlace/in a network of lines that intersect

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter where, not only do Artemis and Dick start sleeping together, but Artemis basically goes through a list of reasons convincing Nightwing why it wouldn't be automatically life-threatening to continue.
> 
> Also please note that this is the last complete chapter I've written before I have to actually finish stuff. It might take a bit longer to update from now on, but I do have everything planned out and every intention of finishing. So hold tight and keep rowing our ship, Traughtians.

The plane back to Russia is a blur. Nightwing drives them back, and he follows all the rules so it takes longer. Artemis fixes her gaze out of the window. She can still see Nightwing's reflection, pale against the black streets outside. He glances over at her at stop lights, worried, as the silence stretches further and further.

At home, time slows down enough for emotions to actually hit her. She slams the door behind them as hard as she can and falls to her knees in the hallway, breathing fast, trying to calm herself. Nightwing sets all the locks in their apartment from windows to doors, and he pulls the curtains too. Then he heads into the kitchen where his laptop is constantly on. There's a sharp beep before Nightwing returns and kneels next to her.

"Artemis?" he asks. "What's wrong? What happened?"

She almost killed someone. Intentionally. She wouldn't have liked it. She would have prayed for her soul to all the Vietnamese gods and burned all her mother's incense if she was on the right side of the earth. But she would have definitely taken someone's life with her own hands tonight, of her own free will, and she only escaped because that man had been wearing the best body armor in the world.

"He told me to shoot a guard," Artemis says, covering her face like a repentant sinner. "I had to. The shot was clear and he was standing still."

Nightwing puts a gentle hand on her shoulder. He's still wearing his gloves but she leans into the touch anyway. "It's all right," he assures her. "You didn't kill him. That's why it went off the rails--"

"Please tell me you knew!" she begs through her hands. "Nightwing--tell me you knew they were all wearing vests that could stop sniper rounds! And you fucked with their intel so they wouldn't catch it, and that's why I didn't kill anyone today!"

"I haven't gotten through their encryption yet. I had no idea." The tears come, hot and angry. Nightwing foregoes any awkwardness to put his arms around her. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Their apartment is as safe as they can make it, but outside of Nightwing's touch the cold air lances against her face like claws. The narrow hallway constricts in the dark until Artemis feels like they're the only ones awake in the world.

"Did someone offer to lend you their comm?"

"Yes. But it was--"

"A trap," she finishes dully. "Vladimir's okay, though. Just doing his job."

"Yeah. Nadia, too." Nightwing's hold loosens like he's about to pull away and Artemis panics.

"No, please--Nightwing, don't leave me."

"I'm not leaving--" Artemis tightens her grip on him, and something about that changes his mind. "Okay," he whispers.

They stay on the floor for a long time, holding each other. Artemis wonders if she should tell Nightwing she's killed before. That she shot twice. That she's less scared of doing it again than she is of it getting easier as this mission drags on. She wonders what Nadia did to test Nightwing--if she had a knife in her sleeve like Artemis thought. That poor girl is more on Nightwing's level--she was so nervous on the flight over, and now they know why.

"What's your blackmail?" Artemis asks instead, suddenly desperate to know. He never said it out loud and she never asked him, but she knows he's thought of it. He's thorough like that and she just wants to stop thinking. Stop thinking entirely about how she almost killed someone today. Tonight. Whatever time it is.

"My brother," Nightwing says. "They've got my brother. They'll kill him if I don't do this." His eyes well over. This has more truth to it than usual and when Nightwing looks away, it shines as it traces his cheekbone. "They've--they've already done it once."

Two brothers and one of them died. She realizes with a jolt that he's talking about the other Robins. Even though she wasn't there and had nothing to do with it--when she walked down and saw the second Robin in the memorials next to Tula, it hit her like a brick through a window.

Nightwing breaks off and pulls away from her, crying like he's just heard the news for the first time. It's like his cough--he sits there, looking away, clearly willing himself to stop, but he can't. It was too personal, too close, too _much_ \--she knew it. Artemis grabs his shoulder, shaking him a little.

"Nightwing." He doesn't stop or push her away. "Hey." He glances at her for just a second, but the shuddering ebbs off a little. Artemis leans closer, right in front of his downturned face. "Look at me," she says, dredging up all the gentleness she's learned in her short life away from crime.

He brings his chin up.

Suddenly there's only an inch or so of space between them.

His hair is falling out of its strict style and his blue eyes are bloodshot, but he's the sort of person who still looks good when he cries. No--beautiful, she thinks.

Everything she's thought about him in the past month comes crashing back into her head, and she realizes with a jolt that this was why she was so angry the time he broke the glass. What she'd wanted--what she didn't allow herself to realize--was that she'd gone to Nightwing's room, sat on the edge of his bed, and leaned into his shoulder because she wanted to kiss him. But he'd politely told her good night and ushered her off. Fuck, if she'd told this to Zatanna, the witch would have reamed her for being so blind to the obvious.

Now Artemis knows that she wants to kiss Nightwing. She doesn't know if he wants the same thing--but there's no use waiting, he's right here in front of her.

Artemis leans in to close the gap. Nightwing doesn't push her off, but he doesn't return it either and suddenly the most painful thing she can think of is pulling away to hear Nightwing tell her, gently, that he doesn't feel the same--or worse, that this isn't part of the plan. When Artemis stops for a breath, there's a second of watching his uncertain face shift between shades of surprise and confusion before it settles into what looks an awful lot like passion as he kisses her back.

For a long few minutes her world narrows even further--to her heart pounding, the feel of Nightwing's gloved hands twined into her braided hair, the heat of his mouth against hers. No imminent future, no fake pasts, no almost-kills, nothing else besides how good it feels right now.

And then Nightwing pulls away for a brief, maddening moment. "Artemis, we can't--I didn't think this would happen--we shouldn't--"

"Fuck!" Artemis grips his shoulders, digging in her fingertips. "Whatever! So we won't, just--just keep touching me--" A wide range of emotions flicker across his expressive face, some of them not quite a no, not very clearly a yes--and Artemis switches tack because right now she needs something, anything to distract her from the mission right now. "Please, Nightwing." She leans into him, her chest against his, her arms encircling his shoulders, but looser. It's his call now and she has to use every ounce of discipline to keep from just going forward. If he pulls away again, she'll blow a gasket--but she'll let him go.

He shifts, opening up more space, taking his hands away. Artemis gets ready to find something that she can smash into bits. The other, more responsible part of her thinks bleakly ahead to how she'll apologize to him across the kitchen table tomorrow. It will be awkward and impersonal and nothing like this. Then the creak of leather stretching, of Nightwing's gloves falling onto the floor, interrupts the stream of rage. The flash of his pale hands unbuttoning his black wool coat shifts the burning rage inside Artemis to burning urgency. Before it even gets past his shoulders Artemis lunges forward, yanking it off him and crushing her mouth against his.

He weaves back, accepting and returning it with the softest touch she's ever felt, sliding underneath her shirt to the small of her back. Right now this gentleness is just as infuriating as a refusal. Artemis pushes him hard until his back is against the wall and she's wound both her arms around his neck, twines her leg in between his, and kisses him so hard it's almost a bite. She knows what he's capable of, that the main reason everyone believes he's a criminal at all is how he's so clearly too strong and too fit to be some nobody who goes to the gym a few days a week. There's no physical difference between someone who trains every day to kill and someone who trains every day to avoid killing. She wants him to use that to push back, not to absorb or deflect or soften.

"Nightwing," she snarls. "Touch me."

"I am--" and she wants to scream because he still doesn't get what she's saying--

"Like you _mean it_!"

He's lost for a second, then falls back on instinct and that's when his body changes to mirror her. He keeps his own effortless grace but Artemis is thrilled when he hikes her leg up around his waist and his fingers dig into her thigh. The other hand fans out against her back to support her weight and pull her in and when he kisses she feels the edge of teeth in it.

She stumbles to her feet and, almost blind because they didn't bother to turn on the lights, she throws open the door to Nightwing's room purely because it's closest. Between the door and the bed, Artemis speeds up and Nightwing falls behind. She looks back to see him caught between his desire and his practicality. She could scream.

"I honestly had no idea this would happen," he says tightly. "I didn't prepare for this."

"Didn't prepare for this?" she asks, both amused and seething. "Let me think of everything you have prepared for. You've got more Euros than I could spend in a year, a shovel, false identification for both of us down to fake birth certificates and fake fake birth certificates, an air filter, two first aid kits--yes, I know we're going through them fast--night vision goggles, squibs, spare lockpicks, spare snow chains, hydrogen peroxide, and sleeping pills."

"Yes."

"I doesn't even know what's in that other suitcase you brought."

"We might not need it."

"But no condoms. At all."

"No."

"Well, you didn't prepare for getting bronchitis, either," she tells him.

"Which is cured by rest and fluids, not medication."

"I had to barricade you in or else you'd work yourself to death in the Russian winter."

Trying Nightwing's patience is a rare thing since he has so much of it, but it looks like Artemis hit a nerve--with that, of all things. He turns. "If you're going to mock me, let's just switch rooms."

"Wait!" she yells, just as he steps out the door. "You do know there's other things we can do."

He pauses. Long enough that Artemis prepares to take a very long drive into the nearest forest and scream for a few hours. Then he turns back.

\- - -

Nightwing falls down beside her, both of them breathing hard. The sheets are tangled between them and a knot digs uncomfortably into Artemis' bare hip. Even without that, there's no falling asleep right now, as much as Artemis would love to. All that adrenaline.

When her heartrate slows down to normal, she looks over to Nightwing and finds him staring up at the ceiling, back to his terrible habit of thinking too much. "So," she says, trying to break him out of it. When he looks at her she goes on. "That happened."

Nightwing takes a very deep breath, lets it out evenly, and tugs the blanket up. "Maybe it's good that we got it out of our system now instead of later."

Artemis snorts. "You realize that's a load of shit, right?" She lifts her voice in a mockery. "Gee, I'm so glad I had that one burger and now I'll go right back to my diet. Just one more cigarette and then I'm quitting! Now that we've fucked this one time, we'll surely not do it ever again!"

"You're right. This was a bad idea."

"Horrible," she agrees. "Distracting, for one." Nightwing nods. "Complicated." He says and does nothing. "Ill-considered."

"There was no considering going on from either of us," Nightwing tells her. "So, since we're agreed on how bad an idea this is, we should establish some boundaries and not go any further than we have--"

"Whoa, wait!" Artemis sits up and puts a hand on his chest. There are bruises starting to form and she's not sure they're all from the mission. "I didn't say stop."

"It's a bad idea... but let's do it anyway?" Nightwing paraphrases.

"Criminals, Nightwing. Not known for impulse control." She sees a flash of an eyeroll. "Besides--distracting, complicating, and ill-considered though it is, i have reasons that continuing this would work to our advantage on this undercover mission."

"You're seriously going to debate the pros and cons of having sex with your--"

"You can say fuck, Nightwing."

He goes on, stubbornly professional, "Having sex with your--"

"This is why people didn't buy your tough guy act," Artemis tells him.

"--Your partner on an undercover and highly dangerous mission. Artemis, we've already had to change so many fake things! What could possibly be the advantages to having a real and very complicating thing thrown into the mix?"

"I will absolutely debate you. There's at least three advantages I've thought up just now. I was on the debate team at Stanford. I can think that fast."

"I heard. I also heard you got kicked out for making people cry."

" _Pro one._ " Artemis says over him. "No one thinks it's weird for two young attractive single people living together to start fucking."

"Especially when their social circle is limited to criminals who would stab us in the back if we made one wrong move?"

"Just living together is enough--but that's even better! So much pent up tension and nowhere to put it! Thanks for helping me support my argument, Nightwing."

He sighs.

"Two: If one of the aforementioned criminals tries to get us in bed, which is the second most popular option for backstabbing scenarios--believe me, I know--we have a reason for saying no that won't offend anyone."

"I already told someone no. She didn't get offended."

"Great!" Artemis says with a grand gesture. "They already think we're fucking!"

"They could be thinking something else."

"No, they aren't," she tells him. "So why not play into it?"

"Gee, Artemis," Nightwing says, deadpan. "I'm starting to think you like me for real."

"In case you haven't noticed all the Russian girls staring and flirting with you, Nightwing--you're very pretty." Nightwing rolls over, away from her. "Pro three: Reason to go off alone together. If someone stumbles in and sees us being very unprofessional indeed, they will automatically chalk up any other disappearances to 'oh, they're just fucking' instead of 'they're fucking--but you know what, maybe it's a front for them secretly trying to dismantle the operation from the inside out.'"

"Seriously."

"Criminals aren't complicated. Most of them aren't paranoid, either. They hear the sound of hooves, they think it's a horse and not a zebra."

"Even though it is technically a zebra, in this case?"

"We're painting over the zebra. But if you want facts, Nightwing--no one  _ever_ bothered my parents when they excused themselves from the group. I'm two-hundred-percent certain my sister used Roy as an excuse to leave jobs she didn't like. And also, she really was fucking him sometimes. Not to mention the fact that my parents were married and so is Jade. Honestly, this sort of thing happens."

"I mean..." Nightwing says. He lives a lot in gray areas these days--right now he's not entirely convinced, but not bluntly refusing either. It's a little irritating, but better than before. "If you know from personal experience."

"And, pro number four."

"You already have three," Nightwing begrudgingly tells her. "Maybe you're right and this isn't quite as life-threatening an idea as I thought."

"Hear me out."

"Fine."

"I really do like you," she tells him. It comes out softer than her usual tone. Nightwing goes quiet. "Call it selfish," Artemis goes on. "But I just think it'd be nice, you know. Being together, not just working together. It'll be... what, four more months, at least? And we can't trust anyone else here."

"I... I like you too. But what about--"

"I won't bring him up if you won't."

"That's not a very healthy mindset."

"Criminals, Nightwing."

"Right. Not known for healthy mindsets."

"You sure do try hard, though. That's what I like about you. For real."

A silence. Then Nightwing finally turns to face her and says, "I need to think about it. All of this."

Artemis sighs. "That's fair." She gets up and pulls her clothes on, mentally preparing herself for the short cold walk to her room. It's disappointing that Nightwing doesn't tell her she can at least stay with him. He doesn't say good night, either. She imagines him lying there, mental gears whirring furiously, coming up with worst-case scenarios and disadvantages she hadn't thought of, and hopes his paranoia doesn't win out.

\- - -

When she wakes up and trudges into the kitchen, Nightwing has two mugs of freshly brewed tea on the table and his shoulder is finally bandaged properly. He's wilted looking, with shadows under his eyes and a sluggishness to his movements. Artemis only slept half the night before waking up and going to the kitchen, and she still feels a little energized because she legitimately enjoyed last night. So it's likely that he didn't sleep at all and just weighed the pros and cons for three hours straight. It's very depressing.

She sits down across the table from him, cautious. He passes a mug over to her.

"How is this going to change our backstory?" Nightwing asks. "Has this happened between Dan and Diane before?"

She recognizes a chance when she sees it.

"It's happened." Artemis thinks about Diane, a killer for hire. How this might cause conflict in a relationship with a much more honorable person. "On and off," she says, to leave some room for error. She told Vladimir they'd known each other for seven years, which wasn't the sort of thing you'd say about a steady boyfriend. "Right now, we're officially back on. When was the first time this happened?" Nightwing is quiet for a while. "Never mind. It's not that important."

"I was just thinking. My--my brother."

"You don't have to use something real," Artemis says. "You told me that, remember?"

"I know. But it's strong, and people will believe me more if there's a genuine emotional response." Nightwing takes a deep breath, calming himself, wiping his eyes with a napkin. Artemis drags her chair over next to him. "When my brother died. You came over to say you didn't kill him."

Sometimes when they talk about their backstory, false memories flash across her mind's eye like a movie, images spun together from half truths and statistics. In a different universe, maybe--maybe there was a version of herself called Diane who walked up to Dan's door. Who found him crying over his dead brother and came in. Who didn't say 'I'm sorry' or 'he was too young' but 'I didn't kill him.'

Did he accuse her? Is that why she said it? No, Nightwing didn't say it like that.

It was an apology, then. Diane wanted Dan to know that no matter how bad she could get that she hadn't crossed this line, she would never hurt him like that. That she would have done something to stop it, if she could. If she'd known. A lot to pack into four words. She echoes, "I didn't kill him."

That version of Nightwing responds. Artemis turns in her chair to face him. "You said you knew I hadn't. You never suspected me. And I did this." She takes his face in both her hands, his pale and elegant face weighed down with so much hurt for his age. He's so cold, but this must have been what it felt like for their fake memory too. Him crying over his brother while she dredges up all the gentleness she's learned in her short life to try and comfort him.

Nightwing watches her, relaxing into her touch as the warmth trickles into him. She takes her chance to close the distance between them. Because in the other reality, Diane would be captivated that Dan believed her so much. How could someone trust an assassin's word that she hadn't killed his brother?

When she pulls away his eyes are open wide, not just out of surprise but something else, something different and almost reverent. She thinks this isn't part of the plan or the backstory--there's something he's not telling her. Then he takes a jagged breath and his always-gentle hands catch around her shoulders to pull her in tight.

"Wait!" Artemis says. " _Wait._ Hang on. I am driving straight to the store--"

"No, please don't drive."

"I drive faster than you! And right now, we need some damn condoms before we end up repeating last night or worse."

"Artemis," Nightwing protests.

"Not that it wasn't fun, but I was really frustrated that we didn't at least have the option--"

"I already got a box!" he tells her.

It echoes in the kitchen. Artemis smirks as his face turns red.

"Oh, _that's_ why you haven't slept."

"No, that only took twenty minutes."

"It would have taken me five, but whatever."

"The rest was laundry."

Artemis blinks. "Laundry."

"I forgot about my arm, there was blood all over the bed. So I had to take care of those and before I realized it the sun was up."

"All right." Artemis grabs him by the uninjured shoulder and starts dragging him down the hall. "Several things wrong with that."

"Wrong? What--"

"One, you got condoms but didn't wake me up at once so we could use them." She sidesteps the boxes of their equipment. Nightwing trips over one of them. "Two, you stayed awake but all you did was _chores!_ And probably have an existential crisis at the same time to maximize efficiency or whatever." She pulls open the door, ignoring Nightwing's insulted sound. Why does saying he's a workaholic get on his nerves so much? "Three, you washed the sheets when I'm just going to drag you back in here and--"

Nightwing pushes her up against the wall and kisses her. Hard.

When she breaks away for air she tells him, "I'll complain a lot more if it makes you do that."

He laughs. It's softer than the one he puts on for their cover, more intimate, like holding a cup of tea in both hands.

_Yeah,_ she thinks. _I could get used to this._


End file.
